Finding Alex
by e-dog
Summary: Olivia deals with loss in her own special way. Her latest obsession leads her into a very dark world. A world where she finds something even more sinister than the Columbian drug cartel threatening the life of Alex Cabot.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: My second attempt at SVU fiction. I wouldn't exactly call this your typical Post-Loss fic. At least I feel it's different from most. This story has the tendency to imply a femslash relationship. If that bothers you, then turn away now. All the research I did for this piece of fiction will be credited at the end of the story. Spoilers for Loss and Ghost. Oh, I should mention the mature rating for language and such.

Summary: Olivia deals with loss in her own special way. Her latest obsession leads her into a very dark world. A world where she finds something even more sinister than the Columbian drug cartel threatening the life of Alex Cabot. With the help of a mysterious stranger, will she find the answers she seeks?

**Finding Alex**

by e-dog

**1**

_She paused, then held the phone with her hand instead as she spoke, "Hey, you don't have to quote the facts to me. Trust me, I know them. These drugs range from having a high potential of drug abuse and no medical use whatsoever to having medical acceptance but with the possibility of leading to dependency. Trust me, I know."_

THE SNOW WAS FALLING gently over the city of New York. Big, fluffy white flakes melting the second they hit the ground. There was a nice brisk chill in the air, but Olivia Benson had been through worse winters. With a scarf, leather jacket and heavy boots, she was ready to brace the elements. Now if only she could have remembered her cap, then her head wouldn't be so cold. A gust of wind came from nowhere, ruffling the pages of the newspaper tucked under her arm.

The warmth of the station was highly welcomed and the cup of coffee her partner set on her desk moments later was even more appreciated. What she didn't appreciate was his lingering eyes on the newspaper she set on her desk. For once she wished she could get through one day without dealing with the stares.

She could still feel his eyes on her as she swiped a highlighter over the selected passage. Cragen stopped by her desk and dropped a note into her waiting hand. It was an address. They finally had a location on a paroled sex offender suspected to be involved in their latest homicide case. Thanks to this, the mundane task of filling out paperwork could be ignored for at least another day. Unfortunately, she also had to stop reading the paper.

---------------------

She sat back and enjoyed the show. Elliot was ripping their perp a new one, spit flying as he delivered every derogatory phrase he could think of without using the words 'fuck', 'shit', or any other combinations of the two words that she hadn't thought of yet.

They liked to tag team. When he was done, she'd slam a hand on the table to shake their guy up a bit. She wouldn't yell, but her words were just as vicious. She also had the pleasure of shoving every piece of evidence they had in his face, pinning him to the murder. After only ten minutes of their badgering, the guy rolled over. The confession was signed, sealed and delivered to ADA Novak.

"Hey, how 'bout we hit the bar?" Elliot suggested. "I mean, we should celebrate after handing the DA a slam dunk case."

"I think I'm just gonna head home," Olivia smiled sadly, trying desperately to sound strong. After the perps were put away and the cases closed, her tough cop persona almost instantly vanished leaving behind the vulnerable person that she really was. If only she could hold onto that fire until she got home, then maybe the guys wouldn't be able to pick up on her moods so easily.

"While I'm not one to say I hate conspiracy theories," Munch began gently, slowly approaching her. He even lowered his shades to reveal concerned eyes. "I do have to say, this worries me. I mean, what do you expect to find in all those newspapers?"

"Truth. Reasons," she listed, shrugging her coat on. Tucking her now half read newspaper back under her arm.

Munch choked on a laugh, before reminding her, "That's what makes theories so great, you know. We always think there's a whole lotta truth in them before they're proven false."

"John. . .," Olivia sighed, now turning away from him but ending up face to face with her partner.

"You gotta stop beating yourself up, Liv," Elliot lightly scolded her. "This . . . whole thing is starting to eat at you."

He said the word "thing" as if he truly knew what the hell it was. She didn't even know what the "thing" was, so how could he be all knowing and all righteous?

"I'm fine," Olivia insisted, her tone practically ordering them to leave it alone.

---------------------

The Columbian drug cartel was a very intricate network. An extremely strong force since the 70s, they were now considered to be the most barbarous and sophisticated drug trafficking organization in the world. It was just amazing how small and humble their beginnings were. Not to say peddling cocaine across various borders was modest living, but compared to their status today, one could only hope that someday they would be reduced back to the small numbers in which they started.

With all the research she had been doing, she highly doubted they would ever reduce in size. In fact, they only seemed to be getting stronger with each passing day. Olivia sipped coffee, reading over her latest piece of interest. A magazine article that was written years ago, slightly outdated. Most of the information she had read before. Even still, she took a highlighter and marked up the page, seemingly accenting the more important facts. There were no huge surprises, however.

Months ago, she learned of these top secret submarines discovered by Columbian police. The cartel had been using these subs to ship large quantities of cocaine practically undetected through the waters of the Atlantic and onto the shores of the United States. It was bad enough having to fight the war on drugs practically blind, but add in these subs and visibility was reduced to nil. Technology was getting better and suddenly the good guys were having a hard time keeping up.

These people involved with this cartel were nothing to sneeze at. Unfortunately, everyone in the SVU squad learned that the hard way. When one of their own had to be whisked away into a new life, a new identity to ensure their safety, the entire squad understood the power of these awful people.

Olivia set the magazine aside, yawned and rubbed her eyes. She had been doing this for the last year now, she supposed. Ever since the incident. One could even call her behavior obsessive and unhealthy. She really didn't know what to call it herself. It was only by chance that Elliot found out, then subsequently told Munch, Fin, and Cragen. Then naturally, Casey was next to learn of what Olivia did in her off hours during one of their routine nights out at the bar. Everyone knew. And to call five people "everyone" really showed her lack of a social life.

She highlighted another passage, more out of frustration than for a quest of knowledge. It was only by chance that he found out. Elliot had stopped by unannounced one day. She let him in, forgetting the state her apartment was in. There were books, magazines, newspaper articles, internet printouts. Everything you could dream up about the Columbian cartel, she had documentation of it somewhere. Unsorted pages on the couch. Her kitchen counter had turned into a book shelf. He could only gape in shock as his hands roamed over the various documents in awe.

She didn't really know how to explain herself. Only one word left her lips, a ghost of a whisper that she wasn't even sure he heard. Alex.

He asked her how long she had been doing this. Researching the drug cartel. She didn't have to answer because he had to know. He had to know she spent every waking hour wishing she could find something flawlessly incriminating. Some mind blowing conspiracy-like iota of a lead that would just crush the cartel for good. Anything to bring Alex back home to New York. All her research did was prove their strength.

Then Elliot dropped the mother of all questions on her: "Did you love Alex?"

When she gave him a blank stare, he pushed, "I mean, really loved her?"

Finally, her brain kicked in and she forced a laugh. No, Elliot, she could remember saying. No, she did not love Alex Cabot. Even in a joking manner, she added, "Just because I look butch, doesn't mean I am."

To that he responded with a very serious, "I never said you looked butch."

It took a lot of convincing on her part when trying to explain that her drug cartel obsession was not a labor of love. It was a hobby. Albeit, a crippling one, but a hobby nonetheless. She explained that after Alex "died", she realized how very little she knew about the cartel. Maybe if she learned more, they wouldn't be taken by surprise the next time they had dealings with them.

It began innocently enough. She just wanted to know more. She couldn't remember when, but at some point, it was all she could think about when she wasn't on the job dealing with New York's dirtiest criminals. Nothing she said would ever quell Elliot's concern.

Her head met the cool fabric of her pillow as she tried to sleep. On her night stand she could see her alarm clock draped in yet another newspaper. She reached over to grab it, checked the date and determined it was actually the current paper and not one of her cartel papers. Lately, she had been buying the local papers just to see what they had to say about the war on drugs. She was beginning to run out of resources, finding less and less in the archives of all the local libraries. Now her apartment was covered in current news, the various sections strewn about haphazardly. Passages highlighted in yellow.

She was going to have to organize them all at some point.

---------------------

Drug trafficking used to be so guileless. They used suitcases. They simply packaged small amounts of cocaine and transported the vile stuff in suitcases. When that stopped working, they moved up in the world. Vans. Planes. Clever disguises as missionaries. They could easily pass through borders and not be stopped. Always with their trusty bibles in hand too. Little did anyone know the pages had been cut out and the drugs stored between the Book of Job and Revelations.

No one was really sure when the murders began. The senseless killings of innocent people who heard the wrong thing from the wrong guy while eating dinner at the wrong place. It took a long time for the authorities to put two and two together. Bodies just kept showing up without a clue as to how they got there. Cement shoes and bullet holes in the head used to be the work of '20s gangsters, but they had been out of business for nearly 50 years. Where were all these bodies coming from?

It was only until top secret undercover work revealed how these murders went down. When judges of high profile drug cases started to drop like flies. When policemen and lawyers and government officials just disappeared without a trace. Suddenly the origin of all those bodies was clear. It brought a whole new meaning to the phrase "drugs kill".

"Pablo Escobar, was just a common street thief," Munch said, between bites of his tuna sandwich. When he wasn't goading her about her obsession, he was encouraging her. John Munch could never resist a good conspiracy. "Now he's credited as being the mastermind behind the criminal enterprise that became known as the Medellin cartel. It's always the quiet ones. The commoner who blends in with the crowd."

Olivia smiled, showing teeth even. He grinned and pointed just over her shoulder, "Our little simpleton over there, with the glasses, could be the next Escobar."

"Shut-up, John," Olivia scolded with a taut grin, pushing aside her half eaten meal. She even mustered the courage to look over her shoulder and glance at the man in question. He was a total nerd, hunched over a laptop with a cell phone attached to his ear. Every few seconds, he had to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose before they fell off. Olivia turned back to Munch and just shook her head.

"You don't believe me?" Munch asked her, giving her that quirky smile of his. "We really should put a wire tap on that phone. Just to be safe."

"Now you're just making fun of me," Olivia whined in mock hurt, before dropping her part of the bill on the table. "C'mon. I need to buy a few papers."

Munch rolled his eyes and remarked, "And you wonder why I tease you? You are the only New Yorker I know who actually _reads_ The New York Times."

---------------------

"You're not bored, are you?" she asked, as they strolled through the park, papers tucked under her arm.

"Who me?" Munch asked incredulously. "There's nothing I'd rather be doing on my day off then walking around with a beautiful woman, pining over the incredible history of the Columbian drug cartel."

A slight blush warmed her cheeks at his 'beautiful' remark. She still wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic about the rest of his statement, however. They found a bench and sat down. Her newly purchased newspapers had yet to be opened, but she always saved reading them for last. They weren't finished their "pining" and it was her turn to begin the next round of drug cartel fact spouting. This was about as close to normal conversation as she could get nowadays, so she was eager to start it up again.

"Eventually, the Medellin cartel fractured and broke apart. They just got too big for their britches. It was only when they teamed up with Carlos Ledher did they finally start using planes as their mode of transportation. Things were going smoothly. Their only problem was the ever growing, violent tendencies of Escobar."

"The quiet one," Munch interjected with another facetious smile. She hit him on the arm playfully.

"Escobar is thought to be responsible for the murder of hundreds of government officials, police, prosecutors. . ." Olivia cut herself off, the last word trailing off into nothingness. Munch waited patiently. She cleared her throat before finishing, "Prosecutors, judges, journalists and innocent bystanders. They began to self-destruct under Escobar, while others rose to power. Eventually key players like Juan David and Fabio Ochoa turned themselves in for lesser prison sentences. Other leaders were gunned down and killed. Pablo Escobar got himself shot in what I've always considered the Columbian government's biggest mistake."

"Yep, his cartel secrets died with him," Munch agreed. "Not to mention, killing him gave him the easy way out. No prison sentence. No chance of being extradited to the United States and standing trial."

"He just got away with it," Olivia sighed heavily, her narration over. Maybe some other day they would go into the intricacies of the Cali Cartel. Now it was getting late and she still hadn't gone through her papers. How was it, no matter what she was doing, it always came back to the papers? She always had to read the papers.

She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. She turned to Munch, giving him a weak smile, "I don't know why you put up with me. Elliot thinks I'm a nutcase. He thinks I'm in love with Alex."

"Are you?" Munch asked quietly. He also amended quickly, "I wouldn't judge if you are."

"It's okay, because I'm not really sure if I am," Olivia shrugged, grasping her papers tightly. So tightly her knuckles were turning white. "It's not like I had these feelings before she left. I'm not even sure they were there after she left. I just know that ever since Elliot put the idea in my head. . ."

"You can't help but wonder about what could've been?" Munch inquired, speaking like a seasoned veteran of this game called love. Well, he was, actually. What man marries four times and doesn't understand the amplification of love? He removed his hand from her shoulder, than leaned back against the bench. "You're just dealing with loss in a very unique way, Olivia. It doesn't have to be about love or anything kooky like that. This research. . .it's a crutch, I think."

"Like it's the only piece of Alex I have left," Olivia mumbled.

To be continued. . .


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**2**

_It began innocently enough. She just wanted to know more. She couldn't remember when, but at some point, it was all she could think about when she wasn't on the job dealing with New York's dirtiest criminals. Nothing she said would ever quell Elliot's concern. _

DETECTIVE ODAFIN "FIN" TUTUOLA popped the tab of his can of soda cautiously. His eyes scanned the bullpen for any signs of his partner, Detective John Munch. That man could find anything remotely cabal to say on just about any subject. Even something as simple as a can of Coke. For once, he wanted to eat his midday snack in peace.

Last week, he chomped on a few peanuts and suddenly he was thrown into the world of Jimmy Buffet. He wrote a song on stealing peanut butter from the local mini mart. To Munch, it meant Buffet was confessing to a misdeed he performed as a youth and if one read between the lines, you would see Mr. Buffet for who he truly was: a criminal. To Fin, it was just a shitty song about peanut butter.

"You know, coca is the main ingredient of that crap," Munch said, startling his partner. While Fin choked on his drink, he finished, "Why do you think so many Americans are addicted to that stuff? You think it's the caffeine content?"

"Man, shut the hell up," Fin growled. Then took a long, satisfying sip of his Coke. "They process the cocaine out of the damn leaves before mixing the soda."

"Rumor has it, their 'trade secret' used to be the cocaine," Munch smiled mischievously. He loved annoying the hell out of Fin. Plus all that talk about drug cartels with Olivia was starting to rub off on him. "It was only until the feds starting busting up drug rings did the Coca-Cola company start filtering out the bad stuff."

"It's also been proven that the acidity level in Coca Cola is so strong, it's very useful in cleaning up blood," Olivia chimed in from her desk. For the first time in several weeks, she was sporting a very elfish smile. "People claim that's how State Troopers clean up blood from highway accidents."

"Oh man, not you too," Fin groaned while simultaneously rolling his eyes. He ceremoniously dumped the rest of his Coke in the plant sitting near his desk. He glared at both detectives and sneered, "You happy? It's gone."

Elliot finally looked up from his desk at his partner, "You're in a good mood."

"I guess I'm having a good day," she replied, flashing a genuine smile for a change. "Did you notice something different when I walked in today?"

The three men glanced at each other before shrugging. They had no idea what she was referring to. She swept an arm across her desk and announced proudly, "I didn't buy a newspaper today. Not one."

After taking a moment to think back on the morning, they were able to recall seeing Olivia walk in _without_ a newspaper tucked under her arm. They all flashed very impressed looks at her, before Elliot verbally gave his congratulations. It was monumental they said. No newspaper? No more searching for current articles on drug trafficking? Or the cartel?

"Really, Liv. That's good. Really good."

"It's time," Olivia smiled, her voice suddenly small. It took a lot of will power to keep walking. To pass the newspaper stand, ignoring the kind Mr. Lee who sold her the papers every morning. She almost imagined this was how a smoker felt when quitting cigarettes cold turkey. Buying the papers and researching the cartel had been an essential part of her life for so long. She ached inside knowing she was going back home empty handed.

Elliot walked past her desk, rested a hand on her shoulder and caressed it gently. His easy smile gave her strength. It was time to move on. Obsessing over the cartel would not bring Alex back. They would always remain strong. There would always be some young punk buying the cocaine from some punk dealer who bought the original coke from a well-to-do Columbian. It was time to move on.

Elliot finally let go and left the squad room. Her phone rang and she answered promptly, "Benson."

Her blood ran cold. She took a wary glance toward Fin and Munch, but they were busy. Still arguing over the cocaine content in Fin's soda. Another glance toward Elliot's desk. He hadn't come back yet. Finally, her focus was on the caller. She demanded in a hushed whisper, "Who are you?"

Their reply was the dial tone.

---------------------

Her apartment had suddenly exploded with medical journals, yards of printouts and several books, spewed all over the place. Olivia held the cordless phone between her shoulder and ear, listening to the voice on the other end. The same voice that had called her at the station nearly a week ago. She laughed, then asked sarcastically, "Do you know what drug trafficking is, my friend? Do you understand why this particular cartel is so hard to bring down?"

There was some more babble. Of course they knew what drug trafficking was. Almost as if she were on automatic pilot, she found a random article on the kitchen counter, then grabbed a highlighter. She waved the yellow marker over the definition while continuing to listen to the voice on the other end.

Drug trafficking: the illegal manufacture or sale of controlled substances.

She paused, then held the phone with her hand instead as she spoke, "Hey, you don't have to quote the facts to me. Trust me, I know them. These drugs range from having a high potential of drug abuse and no medical use whatsoever to having medical acceptance but with the possibility of leading to dependency. Trust me, I know."

Another pause. She laughed again, "I could care less about heroine or LSD. You can deal with that. Cocaine is the Columbian cartel drug of choice therefore making it my only concern. This stuff is just impossible to. . .I mean, the stuff is derived from a significant local cash crop which we all know as coca. The combination of government inefficiency and corruption makes growing coca and cocaine trafficking difficult to eliminate."

More talking on the other end. Very serious talking. This time she nearly dropped the phone, then plopped down unto her couch. After gulping once, she whispered, "What are you saying?"

There was a knock on her door, interrupting the conversation. She sighed, "I have to go, but I still want to talk. Call me back tonight."

She took a minute to prep herself, then opened her door to find Elliot standing there. She couldn't bite back the groan of disapproval. His prying was not what she needed today. She found herself blocking him seeing how he was trying desperately to take a peek inside. Finally, he said, "Spring cleaning?"

"Yep," she said quickly. "Why are you here?"

"You look flustered," he remarked, clearly avoiding her question. Squinting his eyes some, he asked, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied, then repeated earnestly. "Why are you here?"

"To check up on you. I figured since you had stopped buying papers, you would start, I dunno. You would start throwing the other stuff away too."

Olivia decided to play along, "Yeah, um, you figured right."

With puppy dog eyes, he nearly begged, "Can I come in?"

She was very reluctant, but finally ushered him inside. She admitted shyly, "Getting rid of all of _this_ was harder than I thought it would be."

"I can help," he offered, removing his coat and hanging it on a kitchen chair.

"No!" she almost shouted, then repeated much more softly, "I mean, no. I can do it. I need to do it on my own, okay Elliot?"

"Okay," he smiled, then reassured her for the umpteenth time in the last week. "You're doing the right thing. It's time to move on."

"I know."

He watched her put piles upon piles of papers in a huge trash bag. She was very precise in her movements. The papers were all stacked neatly, then laid into the bag with the utmost care.

He watched from the couch, only occasionally picking up the books lying next to him and handing them over to her. She had so much stuff here on cocaine. On the cartels in Columbia. On the industrial use of the drug. So much stuff. How could one person accumulate so much on one topic?

The more she dumped into trash bags, the more he worried. She would open kitchen cabinets and reveal more books and more journals. Under her bed were newspapers spanning over thirty years of history, the articles on drugs highlighted in yellow. He couldn't help but worry.

"I'm out of trash bags," she announced about two hours later. She had only bagged about a third of papers littering her apartment. Ten bags in all. How did she live in here comfortably? How did she live in here without suffocating?

"Well, this is a good start," he said quietly.

"Yeah," she sighed. Crossing her arms, she told him, "You've got that look."

"What look?"

"That stunned look. The 'I can't believe you' look," she clarified, a rueful smile adorning her lips.

"Well, I'm more confused than stunned," he admitted, rising from his seat on the couch. He pointed at the bags and continued, "This is just too abnormal to be some hobby. Collecting toy trains or working on model cars, those are hobbies, Liv. This is . . ."

"Crazy?" she filled in meekly.

Her eyes grew sad just then. Avoiding the desolate look on her face, he nodded, "Yeah, crazy."

---------------------

This voice kept Olivia sane. It listened to her; it didn't judge her. Absent were the condescending looks from Elliot. Gone were the sarcastic remarks from Munch. It was just this voice and right now it was all she needed. She just needed someone to listen.

She held on to the phone for dear life as the details poured out of her, "Criminal trials nowadays almost make it an automatic thing. Too many of these bastards have connections to hitmen. We have to protect the witnesses. We have to relocate them until trial. It happens all the time, you know? I just never dreamed it would be her. . .God, Witness Protection. I was stunned, considering I had been told she was dead. Just really blown away."

She had tore open another one of the garbage bags. It didn't take much to fall back into old habits. Seven days to bag all this mess, less than thirty seconds to unpack it all. After a lot of digging, she finally found what she was looking for. The boys at work all thought her research included information solely pertaining to cocaine and the cartel. Nope. Everything she ever wanted to know about Witness Protection was at her disposal as well. She dropped several pages in frustration, sunk to the floor and said almost nostalgically into the phone, "You never forget a person like Alex Cabot."

The voice asked her why she was so obsessed with bringing down the cartel? Why was this Alex Cabot so important to her? Were they lovers? Olivia snorted, "Why does everyone keep asking me that? I didn't love Alex then. I don't love her now. She was my colleague. No, she was my friend. A very good friend. Just because I don't like the fact the system fucked her over doesn't mean I was secretly in love with her. All I'm saying is, you never forget a person like Alex Cabot."

The United States Federal Witness Protection program was all about forgetting. They erased things. Swore people to secrecy. If you broke that promise, you would surely pay with your life. There was also that little part of severing all ties with former acquaintances. Shit, was that all she was? A former acquaintance of Alex Cabot? Olivia was unaware she had fallen silent, until her voice friend had asked if she was still there. "Yeah, I'm here."

It was all there in the Witness Protection Act. All the rules that had to be followed by all parties involved. If those rules were broken, death was the result. According to the agency, they proclaimed this amazing track record of keeping witnesses alive. They claimed not one person had ever been killed in their care. Olivia had read about it in one of her books. She didn't believe them.

She ruffled through more pages, phone still attached to her ear. Ah, there it was already highlighted in yellow. "No program participant following security guidelines has ever been harmed while under the active protection of the Marshals Service." Contrary to that statement, nearly all of the witnesses who were harmed while under the watchful eye of the Marshals Service had failed to fully comply to the rules, oftentimes contacting old acquaintances. Olivia was merely an acquaintance and Alex would never risk calling her.

The voice kept talking as she spied the mess she had made. Elliot had insisted on taking the trash out for her. She mostly assumed he wanted to make sure everything was scrapped for good. If he himself witnessed the destruction of her obsession, he would rest easier at night. Well, she could care less if Elliot slept better at night. She was so glad she didn't let him throw all of this away. So glad.

She glanced up, her eyes viewing her living space. For the first time in months, her kitchen actually resembled a kitchen. The cabinets held dishes and glasses, not newspapers. Her sink was filled with water instead of a tower of overdue library books. Now listening to this damn voice on the line, she was dangerously close to putting everything back. This voice.

Elliot would never understand. He wanted to make sure she wouldn't rip the bags open again and restock her kitchen counters with books, old magazines and newspapers. He would never understand.

"Olivia?" it called. Well, he called. After listening to this voice for the last two weeks, she could most definitely be sure it was a man. She reassured she was still listening.

It's impossible to bring down the cartel it told her. She knew this. Witness Protection was just as intricate, just as secretive. Alex could be anywhere. She knew this too. Then why do this to yourself, it asked her. Why push an issue that has no immediate or satisfying resolution? Because she had to keep looking for that one loophole that would free Alex.

The one loophole that would bring her home. Alex belonged in New York City. It was her life.

Okay, okay, it said. I have connections, it said. I might know something. Then it dropped the one question she had been longing to hear for a very long time, "What if I can offer you a way to find Alex? To bring her back?"

The cop in her didn't want to trust this man. She didn't even know his name, but her current state of emotions was winning out. How could she refuse an offer like that? An offer to find Alexandra Cabot and bring her home? It took some prodding, but she finally got the man's name. She wrote that name down, in addition to a place where they could finally meet in person. A very public place right near the police station.

She hung up the phone, tore open every trash bag and began reorganizing her notes. There was hope yet. She was going to find Alex.

To be continued. . .


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**3**

"_It's okay, because I'm not really sure if I am," Olivia shrugged, grasping her papers tightly. So tightly her knuckles were turning white. "It's not like I had these feelings before she left. I'm not even sure they were there after she left. I just know that ever since Elliot put the idea in my head. . ." _

"_You can't help but wonder about what could've been?" Munch inquired, speaking like a seasoned veteran of this game called love. _

ALEX TOLD HER EVERYTHING about her life as Emily. About her job. About how she couldn't even go to her own mother's funeral. The name her lover uttered during sex. It wasn't Alex. She wasn't Alex anymore. Olivia listened, because that's what friends do, but she listened with faraway ears. She wasn't Alex anymore. Olivia wanted her back.

They leaned against the cold, frosty window in unbearable silence for a long time, listening to the city below them. Tomorrow was the day. The day Alex would face her would be murderer from the wrong side of the witness stand. Alex just couldn't get over how unprepared she was. As a prosecutor, she knew her opponent before diving into the game. Where they ate lunch, who they had relations with, what made them tick. Alex knew nothing about this guy.

It was all too easy for Olivia to hand over the file of Liam Conners. The sick bastard simply known as The Ghost. This file was all the ammunition Alex needed to nail this guy. For a few hours, they both poured over the documents. For a few hours, Alex Cabot was back.

The rest of the night was spent playing rummy. They reminisced about old cases. Laughed about old inside jokes. Teased each other on those everyday womanly things that women teased each other about. Despite the comradery, Olivia could still see the passionless glow of Alex's eyes. That fire of a ruthless prosecutor had been extinguished long ago. She wasn't Alex anymore. Olivia resisted the urge to hug her old friend, because she feared if she did, she would never let go.

---------------------

"You told me she was coming home."

"I never said for how long."

They were both stirring sugar into cups of coffee. Olivia was smirking and she wasn't quite sure why. It just felt appropriate, she supposed. That this whole entire thing, this whole year spent languishing over the cartels and witness protection and Alex, would turn out to be so unsatisfying. At the end of the day, she was here stirring coffee, conversing with a man who made an offer to her that he couldn't keep. Yes, smirking just felt appropriate.

"She showed up, just like you said she would. Well, Cragen picked her up. You always have to protect the witnesses, relocate them. I just thought, you know, after she testified. . .it would be over."

"Don't you get it now?" he asked her gently, his eyes twinkling eerily. Oh yeah, she understood now. They were much more connected than she had previously conceived. The cartel had called on The Ghost; a man who was former IRA. They called _this_ man to kill her good friend; they didn't call one of their local Columbian home boys.

Just thinking about it, the Irish Republican Army in cahoots with Columbian drug lords, it gave her chills. Who was next? The French? The Germans? Just because the Columbians ran the cartels didn't mean there weren't more of these bastards all over the globe. They could _all_ be in on it. They could _all_ be waiting on people like Alex to reemerge.

He was always telling her the truth. Reminding her how strong the cartels were. Now slapping her in the face with this. Their connections ran so deep and so far. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

"You never forget a person like Alex," Olivia told the man sitting across from her. It was the voice she had been conversing with over the last month. This was their fifth meeting in person. He was an agent from some agency. He was always careful to never specify which one. A somewhat average white guy, clean shaven. Dark circles under his eyes indicating very little sleep. Always in a dark suit, red tie. His voice was always so promising. So intelligent. Now she just wanted to strangle him. She threw a file at him. With tight lips she muttered, "This is your life."

"You've done your homework," he said, scanning the papers. He laughed, "You know, if you wanted to know my life story, you could've asked."

"Well, considering I had to literally beg in order to learn your first name, I just figured asking for anything else would require signing over my soul," Olivia said bitingly. "How did you learn about me, Gannon?"

"_She_ told me about you," Gannon sighed. "We've already discussed this on the phone."

"You've just never told me _how_ you met her," Olivia pushed. "Not to mention, when Alex and I talked, she never mentioned you."

"Alex and I both agreed not to say anything about me, just like I told you not to say anything," Gannon smiled, his amusement perceptible. "For obvious reasons, we shouldn't even be talking right now, so of course I didn't want the two of you blabbing about me with unwanted ears possibly listening in. Judicious, Olivia. We have to remain judicious."

Olivia rolled her eyes, loathing this system she was stuck in. She repeated, "How did you meet her?"

"Look, let's just focus on the present for now, okay?" he requested quietly.

"Okay, fine. Let's focus on the present," Olivia agreed all to easily. Gannon could tell she was ripe for ranting. She was pissed off. She spoke like a woman who had been burned one too many times and damn the man who decided to burn her again. He sat back and prepared for the worst. "People die in that program and I'm not talking about emotionally or mentally. I mean, they really _die_. Remember Joe Barboza?"

"The Animal, is what they called him," Gannon nodded.

"He was murdered while in Witness Protection," Olivia stated, her tone all too grievous with a touch of saucy bitterness lingering below the surface. "You wanna know who killed him?"

Gannon smiled. He knew the answer. "Who?"

"The mob they were trying to protect him from in the first place," Olivia seethed, resisting the urge to slam her hand onto the table. Her voice was already drawing attention from other restaurant patrons. "And what about Joe Valachi?"

"He doesn't count. He tried to commit suicide," Gannon protested. He didn't have a chance in hell at winning this argument.

"Because for most of his adult life, he was afraid someone else was going to kill him instead!" Olivia puled, her eyes on the verge of spilling out tears. Her mouth quivered as she spoke. "If he was going to die, why not go out on his own terms, you know? Lucky for him, a heart attack got to him first and not the wrong end of a bullet."

Gannon rubbed a hand over his face, breathing in deeply. He talked to his coffee mug when he said, "Alex Cabot will not kill herself, Olivia."

Olivia ran a skittish finger over her dry lips. "How do you know? How do you know she won't?"

"She just won't. She's stronger than that. If she heard you even suggested such a thing. . ."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry," Olivia relented. Eyes filled with trepidation, she made a request so bashfully, he could've mistaken her for another person. A weaker person. "Tell me about her. Please."

Gannon wanted nothing more than to make things easier. He didn't want to look like the enemy, no not at all. He wanted Olivia to trust him, but following procedure always came first. It was a matter of safety, after all. He sipped his coffee, "You know I can't tell you where she is."

"I don't want that. I mean, I would like to know that, but I know you can't tell me," Olivia pushed. She leaned forward, almost whispering now as she tried to mask her tears. "I just want you to talk about her. How you met. That sorta thing."

Gannon could do that. He could give vague answers. Vague satisfying answers just to put her soul at ease. He smiled a soft smile, his eyes glowing with pride. "We met years ago. Long before she was a lawyer. Let's just say, I was her go-to-guy whenever trouble found her."

"Was this long before you became a cop?" Olivia asked cautiously.

"Actually, yes," he confirmed. He even laughed. "Alex may look all neat and pretty on the surface, but she had this knack for getting into trouble. Still does."

Olivia suppressed a chuckle. He continued to speak, tapping his lips in thought, "Uh, hmm, how we met? Oh, okay. Two words: high school."

Olivia nearly choked on her coffee, putting the cup down and staring at him with wide eyes. She repeated in a hoarse voice, "High school?" A hint of something flared up in her eyes. Jealousy, maybe? Gannon almost snorted in amusement. For a woman who swore up and down she was as straight as a die, the slight insinuation of another romantic interest in Alex's life sure lit a fire in her belly. "You dated?"

"Not exactly," Gannon shrugged. "I liked her, but she played hard to get. Eventually, we just became really good friends."

"Oh," was all the reply she could muster. He might have sensed embarrassment radiating from her, but her face hid it well. She finished off her coffee.

"Anything else you want to know?" he asked.

Her eyes grew dark, lonely. With another deep sigh she asked, "Are you always going to be the mouthpiece between us?"

"Hey, look, Olivia," Gannon warned her. He even risked enveloping her hand in his. She didn't shy away from his touch. "I haven't talked to Alex since the trial. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure I won't be able to talk to her for a very long time. Being former FBI gives me connections, but they don't always pan out. Just. . trust me. She's okay. I'm watching her from a distance."

She turned her head away from him, her eyes finding something interesting outside. She tightened her hold on this man, the voice who called her all those weeks ago. Former FBI Agent Gannon Quinn. Supposedly really good high school friend of Alex; her go-to-guy for whenever she was in trouble. This man was Olivia's lifeline now. She stated wistfully, "Tell her I'm watching her too."

---------------------

It was a known fact that people in the Witness Protection program were alcoholics. No, she had not read that in black and white exactly, but intuition told her it was true. Or maybe it was this slight buzz rolling through her head telling her so. Who gave a damn where she learned it? She knew it was true.

Common signs of alcoholism, like a person's increased tolerance for the vile stuff, were easy to mask. Olivia knew this too because she was hiding. She herself was beginning to feel 'the urge'. The second she would leave work, she felt that need to pour a glass of red wine to sip gingerly as she swarmed over her current newspapers. A psychological drive to pop the cap on that beer bottle while sifting through more books on cocaine addictions and infamous witness protection cases.

"You're putting 'em away tonight, girl," Fin remarked, sitting across from her at the table. She stared at her drink hard pressed to remember if this was her third or fourth beer. She shrugged in response.

It was the four of them: Elliot, Munch, Fin and herself. It had been months since she last joined them for a drink and she had to keep up appearances. As far as they knew, her cartel habit was over. If she kept making up excuses to run home right after work, they would know she had lied. What pained her most was not being able to discuss these matters with Munch any longer. It felt good to finally be on the same level as John Munch. Discussing theories, bitching over the wrongs in today's world. As she gulped down the last fourth of her drink, she wondered if he still thought about the cartels. If he still thought about those walks in park.

"Whoa, Liv! Slow down," Elliot chided jokingly, forcing a smile at her. He could sense something was up, but he was too trusting. Too convinced she had dropped the habit. She almost pitied him for having that much faith in her.

"I'm done," she promised, taking the pitcher of water on their table and filling up her glass. The condensation almost instantaneously formed on the outside of the glass, but she knew not even water would quench her thirst. She wanted another beer.

Alcoholism: the drinking of alcoholic beverages to such a degree that major aspects of an individual's life are seriously and repeatedly interfered with.

Yes, she was more than convinced people in Witness Protection were alcoholics. They grew increasingly paranoid, lonely and afraid. Eventually, the bottle was their only friend in the world. Olivia wouldn't be told otherwise because she was definitely heading down that road herself. She had grown increasingly paranoid, lonely and afraid. She longed for her nice warm bed, a good medical journal and a tall glass of something strong.

To be continued. . .


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**4**

_This voice kept Olivia sane. It listened to her; it didn't judge her. Absent were the condescending looks from Elliot. Gone were the sarcastic remarks from Munch. It was just this voice and right now it was all she needed. She just needed someone to listen._

SHE OPENED THE DOOR without thinking. It was Cragen. Shit.

"God, Olivia, I said take a vacation," he mumbled, his voice giving away his regret and concern. He grabbed her face with both hands, holding her steady. Her dilated pupils the subtle indication of inebriation. The strong aroma of vodka was the dead giveaway. She shook her head attempting to protest, but he held on to her. "No, this ends now."

Sobriety took work, he knew this. For her, it might be easier simply because he wasn't convinced she was an alcoholic. Frankly, she had never shown signs of it before. Alcoholism was a disease. You recovered from it, you were never cured of it. He of all people knew that there was such a fine line between being an alcoholic and just gulping down too much too fast. He prayed for Olivia's sake it was the latter.

"Cap. . .I'm fine," she managed to mumble.

He couldn't help but yell, "Like hell you are!"

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced she wasn't an alcoholic. This behavior was recent, most likely triggered by a big event. The only one he could think of was the "death", the sudden return and finally the immediate departure of Alexandra Cabot. He hadn't been blind. He had seen her newspapers, drug articles highlighted in yellow. Elliot had told him the stories. How he had seen the books and magazines and internet printouts (all pertaining to the cartels) decorating her apartment.

Cragen sighed inwardly, leading Olivia back toward her couch. Maybe he thought it would all just go away. Maybe he had been hoping this was simply a phase she was going through; her own unique way of grieving. As he gazed around her living space, he realized how wrong he had been.

This had been going on for over a year. Something had to be done.

He had gotten her to lie down on the couch, covering her in a blanket. She was snoring before her head hit the pillow. He gathered up every bottle he could find, tossing them into a huge trash bag. He couldn't ignore the plethora of books and magazines all covering the cartels and drugs littering her place. He figured that was a conversation best left for another time. Right now, all he cared about was making sure she was sober.

---------------------

Hours later, it was just the two of them. They both partly worried the squad room would fall apart without him, but Cragen knew that when he left, it had been a slow day. He was still on call, his beeper ready to announce any emergencies. He sipped on hot chocolate and smiled knowingly at her, "I called you five times, no answer. I thought something was wrong."

"Nope, just drunk off my ass," Olivia groaned, her headache getting worse. She was embarrassed. Her boss had to come in here and clean up her mess. He had to see the fallout of her obsession. She covered her eyes, hiding herself. "Cap, I don't even remember drinking that much. I'm sorry you had to see all this. . .uh, this. . ."

This. She didn't even know what to call this.

"Olivia, it's okay," he cut her off, handing her another mug. "Drink this down. You'll feel better."

She accepted the cup graciously, taking short sips of the hot beverage. She could tell what he was going to ask next, she just wasn't sure she was ready to discuss it with him.

Cragen leaned back into the cushions of the couch, getting more comfortable, a clear indication he wasn't leaving without answers. She was seated Indian style, trying desperately to keep as much distance between them as possible. She hugged a pillow to her chest.

"You gonna tell me what this is all about?" he asked softly.

"Her," she said gruffly. Her life had already been exposed. She might as well be truthful. "It's been about her for a while."

Cragen nodded in understanding. With a sad grin, he confessed, "She's been on my mind lately too. She's hard to forget."

"Oh, I know that," Olivia laughed, hints of sadness lacing her tone. Her voice squeaked, "How could anyone forget?"

"No one is telling you to forget, Liv," Cragen said sincerely. "But you do have to move on, eventually. It won't be long before Elliot comes over here and sees this. He told me you threw all this crap away."

"I know," she sighed. "I can't do it yet. Not yet." She put her mug down, then hugged her pillow tighter. She was beginning to look angry and defeated. "Elliot treats this like some case he has to solve. I know he's worried about me, but all he wants is to put all of this to bed and I just can't do that. Maybe he can put Alex behind him, but it's just not that easy for me. I know she's out there living another life, trying to move on. I also know she's constantly looking over her shoulder, hoping that no one is following her. Just once, I would like her to look over her shoulder and see me. See something safe. Something familiar. She's all alone, Don."

Captain Donald Cragen had seen some major breakdowns in his day. Hell, his own breakdown hadn't been pretty, but Olivia was surely about to take the cake. The research on cartels, the alcohol, the increasingly bitter attitude on the job. He thought giving her this vacation time would help clear her head, but all he did was send her back into a hell of 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. He sent her home to be alone with her books and theories and nightmares. It felt so strange to ask this, yet felt right at the same time.

"Would you like to come back to work, Olivia?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears, "Yes, sir. I need to."

"Okay," Cragen smiled, then stood up. He waved an arm over the living room, "We're going to clean this up . . . _today_."

"Sir, I can't," Olivia protested, rising to her feet.

"I mean, find all your secret hiding places," he corrected, this time his smile full of understanding and support. "I only threw away the alcohol I could see in plain sight. I want you to show me the hiding places. Your secret stashes."

Olivia bit her bottom lip in relief. He wasn't forcing her to clean up her research. Just the booze. Without another word, she helped him to expose every nook and cranny in her apartment until there was no where else to look.

---------------------

It wasn't uncommon to find Casey at the batting cages, blowing off steam. Neither was finding oneself getting caught up in some of her "war stories", explaining in great detail how she managed to pitch a no-hitter against a rival team or how she hit the winning grand slam in a tournament that was the equivalent to the World Series. Whether Olivia wanted to know or not, she could now recite several basic rules of the game, the positions on the field and mimic the hand signals the catcher gave the pitcher at home plate.

It was either talking softball with Casey or more fruitless pining over drug cartels. Yep, Casey it was.

"I wasn't having my best season," the redhead chattered. "My batting average had dropped below .200. My coaches had been pressuring me. My teammates depended on me. It all came down to one pitch, one hit. I remember that game like it happened yesterday. . ."

Casey was mostly talking to herself and she knew it. She had been watching Olivia, holding a newspaper and reading it with great intent. She surely didn't expect the detective to listen to her, but she could at least pretend to be interested.

"What are you reading?" Casey asked, her voice a little shaky. A little nervous. She had intended on sounding irritated, or highly annoyed, but in fact she was quite concerned. Olivia hadn't bought a newspaper in weeks. Not since Cragen busted in and put an end to her short lived alcoholism.

The detective smiled at Casey, then lowered the paper to reveal its title. Sports. She was reading the sports section. More specifically, an article on the one of the local softball teams. She had never been interested in the sport until Casey Novak joined the unit, replacing Alex as their ADA.

It had been hard to stomach the idea of a replacement for Alex nonetheless working with an outright bitchy one. Casey came on a little bit strong for the detective's liking, but eventually became amiable enough to deal with on a daily basis. Hence, their going out to lunch today. Casey was making strives at reaching out. Olivia didn't have the energy to fend her off. She didn't have the energy mostly because she had been up at all odd hours of the night waiting on Gannon to call her. They hadn't spoken in weeks, which strangely enough, didn't bother her at this particular moment.

At this moment, she finally felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

"I'm sorry I asked," Casey apologized. The redhead was uncharacteristically anxious. "It's just, I worry about you. It's okay if I worry, right?"

"It's okay, Casey. I'm glad you worry about me," Olivia said earnestly, unable to erase the smile from her face. "I'm having a good day so far. You've been a big part of that."

Casey snorted her laughter that time. "What? Me boring you with my softball stats? Recounting my glory days? That's been a big part of your good day?"

Olivia smirked, before confirming, "Yes. Yes it has. You know why?"

"Why?" Casey tilted her head slightly, clearly interested in the answer.

Thoughts of Gannon not calling reemerged in her mind. The newspapers and the books. The theories and the facts. That dream where Alex crosses the threshold of the squad room proudly announcing that she's back. It was all there as Olivia could feel her smile fading away into a sad frown. They were all fantasies. They were all illusions.

"Because it's normal. Talking softball with you is normal, Casey, and I need that. You have to understand how much I appreciate that."

"I do now," Casey breathed, unaware she had been holding in any air. Saying this was a huge step in their relationship was an understatement. Their day to day interactions mostly involved discussing cases or determining if there was enough probable cause for getting a search warrant. Olivia confessing how important their 'normal' conversations meant to her was just unheard of. Naturally, this was something Casey Novak could not pass up. She reached out and grabbed Olivia's hand, "I'm here for you, okay? No matter what."

Yes, Olivia had been having a very good day. She hadn't had a drop of alcohol. She hadn't bought a newspaper for the intended purpose of researching drugs and she was even successful in throwing out some of her cartel research. She was also surprised to find comfort in knowing that Casey Novak considered them friends. She was doing _very_ well today. That was, until her cell phone shrilled loudly, signaling someone had left a message. A text message to be more precise.

Casey had eagerly started up another softball tale as Olivia glanced at her phone, suddenly hoping it wasn't who she knew it was. If it was him, her day would be ruined.

She froze as her eyes scanned the text. Hoping her colleague didn't see the flash of terror on her face, she forced a smile and told Casey she had to run. She apologized profusely for cutting their lunch short, leaving her part of the bill and possibly more on the table. The redhead seemed disappointed their impromptu girl bonding moment was over, but she let it pass. "Go, Olivia. I'll see you back at the station."

"Thank you," Olivia said gratefully, even venturing out to give the other woman's hand a tight squeeze before departing.

She left the restaurant, the words from the message burned into her mind: 911 Meet me at our usual place. -Gannon

---------------------

On a much larger scale, drug trafficking affected major political decisions at the highest level. It fucked with the world economy, its profits screwing with the law of supply and demand. So many efforts to bring this damn organization under control mostly thwarted by corruption at the highest levels. To be blunt, drug trafficking had been complicating US foreign policies in Latin America for years. United States citizens saw this as a major domestic political issue, but surprisingly enough, drug trafficking was never a huge factor when voting for new Senators, Representatives or Presidents. She would never understand why.

The Medellin cartel had been fractured, but never destroyed completely. They developed a new system among their enemies. There were still turf wars, keep in mind, but the system was almost free of flaws. There were now separate contingents, all with their own responsibility. They were a well oiled machine, their system nearly perfect.

Witness Protection worked in the same way. Small groups of Marshals assigned to perform certain tasks. When the going got tough, the Marshals would pass their witness around until he/she ended up with a new group of agents. A new house. A new life. A new job. They too were like a well oiled machine, but still far from perfect.

According to Gannon, the group responsible for keeping on eye on Alex had been doing a horrible job. This didn't surprise Olivia, considering she had very little faith in their protection abilities in the first place. He produced photos of a shady white van parked across the street of her suburban home. It wasn't there every day, but it was there often enough to raise suspicion. About once a week, parked for no more than five minutes, then driving away. Alex would exit her house moments later to retrieve her paper, completely unaware of her strange visitor.

"Plates on the van are fake," Gannon sighed. "I checked."

"I don't understand," Olivia shook her head, studying the photos. "Why is he just sitting on the house? Why are they taking their time?"

"Must be trying to get creative," Gannon shrugged, then pushed. "What does it matter why? We know who it is, Olivia." He leaned across their table and whispered encouragingly, "Come with me."

"Excuse me?" Olivia sputtered, her eyes widening in alarm. "I can't leave, Gannon."

"Are you kidding me? This is your opportunity to stick it to these Columbian bastards, Olivia!" Gannon preached. He always sounded so intelligent. So promising. Grabbing her hand, he insisted, "I've just got this feeling, the next time that van shows up, you'll be getting a bleak phone call in the middle of the night telling you that Alex is dead. Dead because _you_ wouldn't stop them."

"No," Olivia refused again, pulling her hand out of his grasp. She couldn't break the rules.

"C'mon, Detective! Where's all that shit on drug trafficking you keep spouting off every time we speak? Where's that passion?" Gannon was hitting hard at her weakness. It was working. These people were dangerous and they had Alex in their sights. The drugs would always be there. The dealers and the buyers would always be there. Alex was expendable in their eyes. Those fucking idiot Marshals hadn't seen what Gannon had seen. They hadn't seen that van parked outside Alex's house, waiting on the perfect opportunity to kill her. Even knowing all of this, her cop training kept her rooted in her chair. Made her indecisive and unsure.

Gannon wasn't giving up without a fight. "You of all people know how dangerous they are. I've just dropped the biggest Christmas present in your lap and you're hesitant to open it?"

"Gannon, I already know too much. I shouldn't have even seen these photos," Olivia reasoned, attempting to keep her wits about her.

Gannon laughed, "So what? Talking to me was okay? Olivia, we're both screwed if the Feds find out we've been communicating with Alex."

"You've been communicating with her, not me," Olivia reminded him, then inquired curiously, "What about telling the Marshals what you saw? They would have to take any kind of information you give them seriously. . ."

"And what? Get arrested for spying on a witness in the program? No way. If I get put away, I can't protect Alex."

"Do it anonymously."

"Look, I know how this system works, Olivia. They don't take anonymous tips seriously. Marshals are cocky bastards. _You_ know this. _You've_ told me how they proclaim a perfect record in keeping witnesses alive. We know that's bogus. If they don't uncover the information themselves, then it's crap to them."

Olivia sighed. She did know this. She knew how unreliable that entire system really was. Even still, there had to be another way. She couldn't break the rules, even if she didn't agree with them. "What about you? Why can't you stop this guy?"

"I'm not a cop anymore, Olivia. You are," Gannon explained. "I can't get my hands dirty, but you can."

It took a moment for it to dawn on her, but suddenly it was all clear._ She_ could get her hands dirty. _She_ was a New York City detective. Getting her hands dirty meant this was _her_ jurisdiction. Alex was being hidden within the very city she should be miles away from. It was almost genius, in a way. Hide the witness in the last place anyone would think to look; right in her home town. Olivia locked eyes with the voice, with this man who was now her lifeline. She spoke slowly, "My jurisdiction. I'm just a detective who is following a lead."

"That's right. And it just so happens this lead involves saving the life of your friend. Of _our_ mutual friend," Gannon smiled. "Look, I'm not suggesting we attack this guy. All I'm saying is we watch him together. For once, I don't have to keep an eye on Alex by myself. I have you to help me."

Olivia remained silent, her forehead scrunched deeply in thought.

He slapped some bills on the table to pay for their coffee, "So, are you coming with me or not? If I've got this guy's routine down, he'll show up at Alex's again tomorrow."

Olivia couldn't live with herself if she sat back and let Alex die. "I'm in."

To be continued. . .


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**5**

_He had to know she spent every waking hour wishing she could find something flawlessly incriminating. Some mind blowing conspiracy-like iota of a lead that would just crush the cartel for good. Anything to bring Alex back home to New York. _

THE SUBURBS OUTSIDE NEW YORK CITY were absolutely gorgeous. Olivia could only dream of affording a house like these, with their white porches and acre wide lawns. Living in the city, it was rare to see land so green and so open. It was so peaceful here. The drive took about four hours.

She began to worry. This wasn't exactly the city. This was out of her jurisdiction, but Gannon eased her concerns. He always did. They were just following a lead. It wouldn't be unreasonable if they were a few hours outside of the city.

She was suddenly glad she asked for the day off. She felt better knowing she was off the clock; not wasting her boss's time on what he would call a "bogus lead". There was also less of a chance of him finding out about this excursion. The less he knew, the better.

She spied a picture tucked underneath her sun visor. She grabbed it, focused on the blond hair and smiled. It was of Gannon and Alex, posing together in a friendly embrace. Then an another thought hit her.

"Does she know?" Olivia inquired timidly.

"Hmm?" Gannon murmured, his focus on their target.

"Alex? Does she know?" Olivia repeated much more strongly.

"Not yet. She won't have to know," Gannon replied.

Olivia held up the photo, "When did you take this?"

Gannon turned to face her finally, squinted his eyes in thought, then grinned, "It was directly after the trial. I fixed up a camera on a tripod, set the timer and then surprised her with a hug. I knew it would be ages before we talked again. I guess I wanted something special to remember her by."

The smile on Alex's face was what intrigued Olivia the most. It was definitely a smile of surprise, of bemusement. She put the photo back in its place, trying to log away that picture in her mind forever. It made her feel good that not all the time Alex spent in Witness Protection was bad. She could be happy too.

Gannon and Olivia sipped bad coffee from small paper cups. They had been driving around in his Honda. Blue paint chipping off the doors. A stick shift with billowing smoke wafting from it's exhaust pipe. She had remarked their smoke made them look like a fire signal in the mountains giving away their location. He could only smile at her paranoia.

They had been watching the van, parked outside a local gas station mart, it's sleaziness apparent. Their guy had been inside for about ten minutes buying only the greasiest form of honeybuns Olivia could imagine. There were only three cars in the lot: theirs, the van and possibly the owner of the gas station. It was so quiet here.

"After this, he usually heads over to her house," Gannon said quietly. "What do you wanna do?"

"I want to get him now," Olivia confessed. The plan had been to follow him. To watch him, but Olivia knew why she really agreed to travel with Gannon. She was out for blood.

"Okay. Go for it," he nodded. No objections. No warnings. Just do it. He pointed to the side of the building, "It's still early. No one else is here. Just take him to the side and have a little talk. Spook him. I would call him on the fake plates and. . ."

"I know what to do," Olivia muttered in irritation. He threw up his hands in surrender. After talking to her for more than a month, he knew when to leave her alone. She was a detective on a mission. As she exited the vehicle, he assured, "I'll park near the pumps. Watch from a distance."

Olivia leaned against the far end of the building, waiting on their guy to come out. He did and she immediately approached, "Excuse me, sir? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

He stopped, half a donut hanging out of his mouth. He was clean cut. Nondescript clothing so he could easily blend into the crowd. The only way he could arise suspicion is if someone had been looking for him. Now he had been found. Before she could say another word, she paused. She thought she noticed recognition flash in his eyes. Like he knew her. She frowned, knowing she had never met him before now. He grinned briefly and obliged all to easily, "Sure."

"Over here," she ordered. She flashed her badge for emphasis, but for some reason she felt that was unnecessary. He set his breakfast on the hood of his car and did as he was told. Once they were in position, hanging out by the side of the building, Olivia noticed she couldn't see the gas pumps from where they were standing. She couldn't see Gannon.

"So what's this about officer?" her guy asked, bringing her back to the situation at hand.

"Detective," she corrected absentmindedly.

"Right, of course. Detective."

"You're Marty Richards, correct?" she inquired. Routine questions. Just stick to routine questions so as not to raise suspicion, she told herself. She didn't want to scare him away.

"Yep," Marty nodded. "That's me."

"I'm heading up an investigation in the city," Olivia began to explain. "Your name came up."

"What are you investigating?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you, sir." she motioned back toward the lot. "I couldn't help but notice your tags are fake. Your expiration sticker is peeling away. Got something to hide?"

"Oh, well, I guess I'm getting sloppy."

"I guess you are. Listen. . .," Olivia stopped talking when she saw Marty smile. He then reached into his jacket. She immediately pulled her firearm and barked, "Hey!"

"I'm just pulling out a picture," Marty promised, slowly revealing a small square of paper. He flipped it around. A clear picture of Alex Cabot picking up her morning paper. He asked with a slight grin, "Is this what we're here about?"

Olivia held her position, gun trained on the center of Marty's chest. She glanced at the photo one more time, then asked menacingly, "Where did you get that?"

"I took it," he said slowly, giving her a slight shrug as if to say, so what if I took it? Concern washed over his features momentarily. He was still looking at her like he knew her, only now he was greatly perplexed. He shook his head, putting the picture back in his jacket. "Look, I don't know what this is all about, but you should know, I have a right to be here. I'm a private investigator."

Olivia narrowed her eyes. "Who hired you?"

"Who hired me?" Marty scoffed. "You have got to be kidding me."

He tried to walk away, but the sound of the safety unlatching on her firearm stopped him. Olivia repeated in a growl, "Who hired you?"

"I don't need this lady," Marty said angrily. "I've got a job to do. You got a problem, take it up with your boss."

"Tell me who the fuck hired you!" she ordered. She almost didn't recognize her own voice. It sounded so vile. So full of hate. How dare this man wave Alex's picture around like it was nothing! How dare he boost his right to be here, terrorizing an innocent woman for those Columbian, drug dealing bastards. When he went to leave again, she grabbed his shoulder and slammed him into the wall. She pressed her gun up against his temple and bristled, "Show me your badge."

"Okay, okay," he sputtered, going into his back pocket. He sounded scared.

He revealed his badge and she snatched it from him. She backed away to study it. It seemed to be legitimate, but how? The only answers bouncing around in her head were facts. Those damn facts on the cartels and Witness Protection. There was nothing in that head of hers about private investigators. Nothing. Marty tried moving, but she barked, "Don't move!"

"Okay, okay," he repeated, staying put. His hands in the air conveying complete surrender.

Her gaze went back to the badge in her hand. Fuck, what the hell? This couldn't be right. A private investigator? Nothing about this screamed Columbian drug cartels. Not a damn thing. This guy should've been more violent or more accusatory. In reality, he was afraid and he shouldn't be afraid. In her confusion, she let her guard down. She lowered her gun, trying to rationalize what the hell she was doing here. Had she lost her mind? Gannon must have made a mistake. This couldn't be their guy.

In her moment of self-reproach, Marty pulled his gun thinking he had found his window of opportunity. In the next moment, Olivia had fired her gun out of instinct and watched him sink to the ground. A pool of blood formed around him almost instantaneously, his eyes bulging out in pain. Shit. She rushed over and applied pressure to the stomach wound. "No, no. Marty, tell me. Tell me who hired you."

Marty was slowing leaving her, his eyes glazing over. "You crazy bitch. . ."

She applied more pressure, practically begging, "No, don't die. Tell me who hired you."

"How...could you not know?" Marty sputtered, blood beginning to trickle out of his mouth. She stared at him with frightened and bewildered eyes. He repeated with a whine in his voice, "How could you not know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Olivia shook her head. Her hands were now drenched in his blood, trying to stop the bleeding.

Marty coughed up more blood. His speech was gargled. "The cop. Your boss. Told me you would come. He hired me. Told me to sit on the house for a few days. Take some pictures."

"Who?" Olivia pushed.

On his dying breath, Marty uttered, "Gannon."

"Gannon," she whispered. She finally noticed the tears that had been streaming down her face. Gannon. Gannon Quinn. Former FBI Agent Gannon Quinn. The voice. Why was this Alex Cabot so important to her? "No program participant following security guidelines has ever been harmed while under the active protection of the Marshals Service." Any witness harmed while under the protection of the Marshals Service had failed to fully comply to the rules, oftentimes contacting old acquaintances. Gannon Quinn.

Marty was dead. She removed her hands from his body and cursed, "Fuck."

So stupid, Olivia. So stupid.

She raced out into the parking lot fueled by rage, her gun ready to kill anything in her way, but Gannon and his crappy Honda were gone. Fuck. She went back to Marty and began to search his body for anything helpful. The picture of Alex, his van keys. Then she found it. Alex Cabot's address. She picked up her gun and the keys. She raced toward the van, hopped inside and started the engine. She backed out crazily, without looking, Marty's breakfast flying off the hood and splattering all over the lot. She put the van in drive and sped away.

She had to find Alex before Gannon did. She had to find Alex.

---------------------

It was nearly 9 in the morning when Olivia roared into the appropriate lane, the numbers on the houses whizzing by as she drove. C'mon, c'mon. 1298. 1300. 1302. The van skid to a stop right in front of 1304. She didn't see Gannon's car, but she doubted he would park in plain sight. Hell, Alex could be dead already and he could be long gone. This was all her fucking fault.

She yanked her radio from her belt and called in, "Dispatch, this is Detective Benson. I need back up at 1304 Halloway Street. Potentially hostile suspect on location." She cut off the transmission, dropped the radio on the floor of the vehicle then checked the ammo in her firearm.

She raced up to the front door of the house and banged loudly with the palm of her hand. "Alex! Alex, open the door! Please!" She slammed her fist against the door again. "It's Olivia, Alex! Open the door!"

There was movement inside. She stepped back, her shooting arm was hanging loosely at her side, tingling in anticipation. She was expecting the worst. Expecting a fire fight. What she didn't expect was a very confused Alex Cabot opening her door in just her terry robe, a toothbrush in hand. Her blond hair still wet from her morning shower. Olivia could see the disbelief and shock in Alex's eyes. She wanted to say something, anything to express her relief that Alex wasn't dead. Not dead yet, anyways.

Alex finally spoke with a surprisingly calm voice, "Olivia? What the hell is going on?"

"I fucked up, Alex," Olivia pushed her way inside, firearm extended. "I have to clear this house. Are you sure you're alone?"

"What? Of course, I'm alone! Olivia, what's going on?" Alex pushed, shutting the front door. She watched the detective inch slowly across the floor, pointing her gun into every empty room. Alex was tired of being ignored, "Christ, Olivia! Would you tell me what the hell is going on?"

Olivia was fighting back the tears. "I fucked up. I led him here. You weren't expecting me. You never were."

"Olivia!" Alex grabbed her shoulders and whirled her around. "You led _who_ here?"

"Gannon, Gannon, fucking Gannon," Olivia repeated, trying to avoid the confusion in those steel blue eyes, knowing she put it there. She ran a hand through her hair, then insisted, "Let me clear the house, Alex. Make sure you're safe."

Alex noticed the blood on Olivia's hands and clothing for the first time. She gently cupped Olivia's chin so she could turn the detective's eyes to meet her own. She spoke softly and sedately this time, "Olivia, you have to calm down and tell me what happened to you. Who is Gannon?"

"Alex? Are you all right?"

Olivia reacted instinctively, pointing her gun at the source of the voice. It was him. Gannon was already in the house, aiming his gun at her. Olivia's eyes inflamed in anger. "Him, Alex. That's Gannon."

Alex shook her head, "No, Olivia. That's Agent Daniels. He's my handler." She then looked at him and said, "I didn't hear you come in."

"Just got in, Miss Cabot," he said. "Who's this?"

"Olivia Benson. She's a friend of mine. It's okay," Alex reassured. She placed a hand on Olivia's shoulder, "He won't put his gun down until you do, okay?"

"No, no, no," Olivia nearly whimpered, holding steady. "This. Is. Gannon."

"I'm sorry, miss, but you're mistaken," Gannon said, his voice sounding confused, but his eyes dancing with amusement. He was laughing at her. "I don't know how you found Miss Cabot, but she's merely in route to a new location after some trouble in Kansas. It was just by chance this safehouse was near the city. We allowed her a few days leave before our move tonight."

"No, you're lying," Olivia growled.

"No, he's telling the truth, Liv," Alex reaffirmed. "I'll be out of New York by tonight."

"Alex, I know this is really hard to believe right now, but you have to trust me, okay?" Olivia stated in her victim's voice. That tone always held a magical quality, the ability to get what she wanted. "This man is a liar. His real name is Gannon Quinn."

Alex glanced across the room to the man she knew as Agent Timothy Daniels. A man who had been protecting her ever since the trial. He was a US Marshal ordered to move her to her next location. He wouldn't lie to her. In fact, they had become really great friends. As a favor, he posed as her boyfriend when in public back in Kansas. Held her hand, took pictures, the whole nine yards. He wouldn't lie to her, would he?

The stiff firing stance Olivia was holding herself in couldn't have appeared more serious or more deadly. She knew Olivia better than Daniels and was much more confident the detective would never lie to her. With that determined, Alex cautiously stood behind Olivia who had been acting as a human shield this entire time, her wary eyes locking with her supposed handler. He noticed her change in demeanor and simply laughed.

"You're not satisfied, Olivia? I thought with you saving your girl and all, you would be extremely happy," Gannon spoke with an eerily calm aura. Both women stared at him in bewilderment. He narrowed his eyes, with a small smile he spoke, "You got the guy, Detective Benson. You killed the man hired to kill Alex. Aren't you satisfied?"

"Liv, what is he talking about?" Alex mumbled. She spoke stronger, facing a man she now distrusted. "Daniels? What's going on?"

"Olivia killed your would be attacker, Alex," Gannon insisted. "Point black in the chest. Lots of blood."

Olivia shook her head, "You lied. You're lying now. Tell Alex who you really are."

Gannon held his stance, his eyes narrowing in thought. He chuckled, "I have to admit, I didn't think you would figure this out so quickly, Olivia. But you're here just the same. That's all I really wanted."

"Daniels?" Alex repeated weakly.

"I'm afraid I haven't been very truthful, Alex," Gannon shrugged, focusing his aim in the dead center of Alex's forehead. All it would take was one shot, one kill. He frowned when Alex hid more of herself behind Olivia, obscuring his shot. Well, he could try to kill them both with one bullet. That would be fun.

"I'm not really a US Marshal. You see, I was actually sent to clean up Liam's mess. To finish what he couldn't. Except this time, we had to be a little bit more discreet. It would've been easier to just blow you away, but that would just bring more cops to our doorstep. Frankly, we're sick of all the attention. So, imagine my delight when I found an obsessed detective in which to pin all this on. You see, Alex, Olivia has been going crazy thinking about you. Thinking about the cartels. She would do anything to find you and bring you home. Hell, she even thought you might kill yourself to escape this hellish world you live in."

Olivia could feel Alex's eyes on her. She could feel the disbelief and the shock. How could you think that Olivia? Why would you do something so crazy?

Gannon laughed again, "And look! Here she is, ready to take the fall for you as well. I'm telling you, this woman really cares about you."

"Olivia?" Alex questioned, her throat suddenly dry.

"Marty Richards was innocent," Olivia spoke, finally finding her voice again. She had to shift the focus off of her and back to the man in front of her. "You told me he worked for them. You told me he had been watching Alex for months and it had only been a couple of days."

"Hey, like an idiot you believed me," Gannon said matter-of-factly. "Listen, babe, don't blame me for your stupidity. I've always found people like you easy to manipulate. You've got this inherent character flaw. You care _too_ much. So much that it hurts. Look where it's got you now."

Olivia could feel the guilt rising. Her anger bubbling. Her frustration. Her regrets. She focused on the man who had tricked her, trying to be angry with him. In the end, she could only be angry with herself. She had been stupid. She swallowed hard and warned, "If you make the mistake of flinching, I'll blast a hole through your skull."

"Well, right back at ya, sweetie pie," Gannon retorted, pulling back the hammer on his gun. "No matter what happens here today, Detective Benson, Marty Richards' blood is on your hands. The fact that you are in Alex's house is all the reason your boss needs to can your ass. You shouldn't be here period. So go ahead. Shoot me. That'll be two innocent men you killed today."

Alex leaned down to Olivia's ear and whispered frantically, "Olivia, get out. I'm not going to allow you to risk your life for me."

Olivia shook her head, not once taking her eyes off Gannon or his weapon. "No, I'm not leaving. This is my fault, I have to fix it."

"My trigger finger is itching to start something," Gannon winked playfully. It was clear death didn't scare him. "Either you lower your weapon, or all hell is gonna break lose." Olivia remained where she was. Gannon's eyes narrowed as he said darkly, "Suit yourself."

His weapon discharged, the bullet hit her shoulder. Her response was immediate, her gun discharging twice. Gannon's body shook as both hit him in the chest. Olivia held her firing stance, then realized the pain in her shoulder. Her eyes closed as she whimpered out of anguish. Alex yelled something as Gannon managed to get off another wayward round. Olivia pulled the trigger on her gun again and Gannon was dead.

It was over.

Arms caught Olivia as she fell to the floor, exhausted. Bright flashes flooded her vision. A hand covered the wound as sounds became muted, her sight beginning to blur. She mumbled something. Tried to convince whoever was with her that she was fine. Somehow she got to her feet, but her shoe caught something slippery sending her back down a spiraling fall. Her head hit the floor with a deafening crack. The world was fading away.

The cartels. Of course that would be her last fleeting thought. Corruption at the highest levels. There would always be some young punk buying the cocaine from some punk dealer. There would always be people like Alex hearing the wrong thing, from the wrong guy at the wrong place. People like Alex died in Witness Protection. People like Olivia were to blame.

To be continued. . .


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading.

**6**

_She held on to the phone for dear life as the details poured out of her, "Criminal trials nowadays almost make it an automatic thing. Too many of these bastards have connections to hitmen. We have to protect the witnesses. We have to relocate them until trial. It happens all the time, you know? I just never dreamed it would be her. . .God, Witness Protection. I was stunned, considering I had been told she was dead. Just really blown away."_

SHE JUST OPENED HER EYES without a clue as to where she was or where she had been. However, she felt she had been here before in some capacity. The smells were sterile. The walls were white. The furniture a pale, peachy color. It all looked vaguely familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time. She tried to move, but noticed there was something stuck in her arm. A tube, maybe. She shut her eyes again, her lids feeling so heavy. She was so tired. And her shoulder, it hurt with an excruciating numbness. As if the limb was a mere elongation and not a piece of her.

"Olivia?" came the soft plea of a woman's voice. "Are you awake, honey?"

Was this woman talking to her? She opened her eyes again, squinting in thought as she took in the porcelain features of this gorgeous woman. She asked curiously, "Do I know you?"

The woman's blond hair fell over her face, as she dipped her head slightly to hide her teary eyes. She looked up again and forced a smile, "You, uh, hit your head. Slipped in your own blood when trying to stand up." Another bewildered look from the injured detective. "Do you remember me? What happened?"

There were flashes of something, maybe. _"This . . . whole thing is starting to eat at you." _The images were blurry. _"Listen, babe, don't blame me for your stupidity."_ Brief sounds that didn't make sense. Nothing of what she could see identified who this woman was. After a few moments, she answered sadly, "I don't know who you are. I'm sorry."

Another sad smile from the blond, "Do you remember who you are?"

Another long second of thinking. "No. I don't remember."

Alex sighed inwardly, trying desperately to hold back any more tears. Olivia's face was blank. That determination usually etched in her features was gone. That fierce tenacity that encompassed who Olivia Benson was could not be seen in those confused brown eyes. Alex bit her lip before supplying the answer her heroine was waiting for, "Your name is Olivia."

Maybe Olivia couldn't remember much, but she understood sadness. It was coming off the blond woman in waves. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed her hand. "Hey, don't cry. I have a feeling things will be okay."

Alex stared at their joined hands, remembering what Gannon had told her. Olivia had been going crazy thinking about her. Thinking about the cartels. She would do anything to find her and bring her home. Alex caught the soft stare the bemused detective was giving her and felt this strange sense of joy. Contrary to the wild look Olivia sported when storming into her home two days ago, this expression was one of deep affection.

"You see, you're already starting to remember something," Alex said, a smile full of teeth. "Always reassuring others it'll be alright. That's who you are, Olivia."

Olivia smiled briefly before yawning and closing her eyes again. The anesthesia was doing its job, effectively knocking her out every few minutes in the process of erasing the pain. Alex leaned back in her chair to watch Olivia sleep.

In the doorway, Captain Donald Cragen and Dr. George Huang watched Alex and Olivia with great scrutiny. Cragen rubbed the back of his neck, having slept very little in the last two days. The frantic call he received that morning from Alex left his skin crawling in anxiousness. "Olivia has been shot, Don. I'll explain when you get here."

As much as he wanted to know the whole story, all that mattered was Olivia. He grabbed Elliot on the way out the door, his version of the story coming out clipped and short. All Elliot really needed to hear was "Olivia" and "shot" in the same sentence to understand the seriousness of the situation.

Elliot enveloped Alex in a hug when they reached the hospital, but was quick to drop the pleasantries and ask the pertinent question: What the hell happened?

"Somehow she found out my handler was dirty," Alex lied. From what she could discern of the display earlier in her house, Olivia and Gannon had been conversing for quite some time. Maybe Olivia had thought he was a friend, a confidant. Either way, it became all too clear that Gannon had betrayed Olivia. He had betrayed them all. "She shot his partner, arrived at my house to tell me this and then that's when my handler showed up. He explained that he was going to frame Olivia for everything and then kill me. She took the bullet that was meant for me. She saved my life, Elliot."

"I think she's lying," Huang confessed to Cragen quietly as they watched Alex talk to a sleeping Olivia. The two men began to walk down the hall for privacy.

"Is this some psychiatric observation you're making here, Doc?" Cragen asked.

Huang smiled, "Actually, no. It's just a hunch."

"Why do you think she's lying?" Cragen pushed.

"Her story is too tidy," Huang observed. "She's feigning ignorance, but I know she knows more. She's the only person to exit that house with full memories intact. With Gannon dead and Olivia's mind erased, she's the only one who knows what really happened in there. Her word is all we have and she's using that to her advantage."

"I still don't think Alex would have any reason to lie to us," Cragen argued.

Huang warned lightly, "Never underestimate the bond that can be forged between two people, who obviously care for one another, under high stress circumstances."

Elliot called them out, effectively ending their conversation for the moment, walking up to them quickly. "They found some papers in Richards' van giving him instructions to watch Alex's house. It connects him to Gannon, so Alex was right. Richards and Gannon were partners. As far as I'm concerned, his death, it was a good shoot."

Cragen glanced at Huang, who still looked doubtful, then turned back to Elliot, "Was there anything else pertinent on this Gannon fellow?"

"Warner dug out two slugs from his chest, one from his leg which was non-fatal. They came from Olivia's gun," Elliot confirmed. "Other than knowing he's dead, there's not much else on the guy. He's got records of being in the FBI, but I'm convinced those records have been forged. The US Marshals do have an Agent Timothy Daniels on file, but they faxed me his picture. It's definitely not Gannon." He held up the picture which Cragen took. "If you ask me, Gannon killed Daniels, took his place as Alex's handler and then set up this elaborate scheme to frame Olivia."

"Which means we still have to locate the real Timothy Daniels," Cragen shook his head. "What do you think, Doc?"

"I still don't think we're getting the whole story," Huang stated truthfully. "Unfortunately, Olivia can't fill in the gaps and Alex claims she has nothing more to tell us. As for Gannon, he was meticulous and patient. He watched Alex for months before making his move, but why? What was holding him back for so long?"

"Well, he wanted to frame Olivia," Elliot shrugged. "Plain and simple."

"Right and let's assume that Olivia was a specific target," Huang smiled knowingly. "Do we know if Gannon had a grudge against her? How did he know she would show up? How did Olivia even end up four hours outside of the city without her own car? I feel like we're not asking the right questions here."

"And what questions would those be?" Elliot asked, sounding defensive of his partner.

"We're forgetting what Olivia's state of mind has been recently," Huang pushed. "We all know Alex's departure upset her greatly. How do we know that her obsessive compulsive behavior didn't trigger these events? How do we know she wasn't talking to Gannon before any of this began?"

"While it pains me to agree with you, you've also pointed out another very crucial fact," Cragen reminded both men. He pointed down the hall to Olivia's room, "The only person who can answer those questions is in no position to do so. She doesn't even remember who she is."

"The doctors are confidant she'll regain most of her memories," Huang provided hopefully. "Maybe she'll tell us someday. Until then, nothing can prove Olivia acted out of line. Nor can we prove that she just prevailed at doing her job."

Huang excused himself and turned the corner leaving the other two men alone. Cragen began to lead Elliot back to the room. Once there, they stood in the doorway and Elliot smiled at his partner. Olivia looked at him, but didn't smile back. She failed to recognize him and that hurt more than he thought it would. He just waved, trying to remain stoic. She finally gave a small smile in return. Elliot shook his head and muttered, "No, she won't."

"You say something?" Cragen looked up.

Elliot stood taller and shoved his hands in his coat pockets, "I said, no she won't. If she ever remembers what happened, she won't tell us."

Cragen couldn't keep from chuckling, "Yeah, I know."

"I can't help but wonder if I saw this coming," Elliot mused aloud, while his Captain listened attentively. "I kinda had this feeling that she would spend every waking hour searching for that one loophole that would bring Alex back. I kept telling myself she was smarter than that, but I still had this feeling that if there was a small chance that Alex was coming home, she would go for it. No matter how crazy, she would go for it."

"Well, she went for it," Cragen nodded, then motioned for Elliot to follow him. They still had jobs to do and now that Olivia was awake, they could go rest up and start putting pedophiles away again.

---------------------

"That man who waved," Olivia turned to the blond. "Who was that?"

"That was Elliot. Your partner from SVU."

"Special Victims Unit?" Olivia asked, unsure.

"That's right. You're remembering." Alex's grip tightened on Olivia's hand as she said woefully, "By the way, my name is Alex. Alex Cabot."

Olivia still couldn't place the face, let alone the name. There was this strong sensation from deep within her soul telling her she should know this woman, but any recognition was just out of reach. The only thing she could be sure of was the good feeling washing through her. Whoever this Alex was, she made Olivia feel good. Olivia smiled, "Hi, Alex."

"Hi, Olivia," Alex replied, her blue eyes boring deep into the lost brown eyes of her protector. Alex leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Olivia's forehead. She whispered against the newly warmed skin, "You found me."

**The End**

Just the sites I used to research

Wikipedia .org  
PBS .org Frontline Drug Wars article on The Columbian Cartels

This is an actual book, not a site:

Grolier Encyclopedia 1993 Edition: drug abuse, drugs, alcohol abuse


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